Broken Wing
by Neocolai
Summary: In the aftermath, Erik tends to the wounded and Peter almost confesses. (Part 2 in the Protection series)


**Disclaimer: Neocolai does not own X-Men or anything related to the franchise.**

 **Also, some injury descriptions and the treatments thereof may result in medical students slapping a first-aid book over my head.**

* * *

Each mutant was in some form of shock after the battle. Erik counted them off silently, noting that Ororo had accompanied the X-Men, although Psylocke and the Archangel had never reappeared. He hoped Mystique hadn't disposed of either.

The blue, prong-tailed creature was babbling in a corner, pestering Moira with questions about the day's happenstances. Erik admired her stamina – maintaining a calm air amidst so much prattle _directly_ after a battle, while holding Charles' hand _and_ overlooking the rest of the mutants, proved the staunchness of a formidable ally. It was a pity she wasn't one of them.

The laser-eyed boy – another he had yet to learn the name of – was slouched against the wall, his head lolling on a redhead's shoulder. The girl herself watched Erik with steeled blue eyes, waiting for the next betrayal. Good. She was more honest than the rest.

Charles slept, and if not for the strain of the last twelve hours Eric would have accused him of drowsing when others needed his attention. Instead he glared at the blue, prong-tailed mutant. If anyone could _think_ too loud and wake the professor, it would be that one.

In contrast, the infernal pest who had once barraged Eric with more words than Blue-tail could contrive in a full day; the one who had rattled his brain with _"Whatdja do, Man, whadtja dooo?"_ was uncharacteristically silent. No words, only soft, sharp panting. He rubbed his head against the wall as though he could grind out the pain.

"Hank." The syllable dropped out and Erik faltered, perplexed at his own voice. Across the littered room, the furry mutant sighed.

"In a minute." His fingers were lighting over Raven's throat, tilting her head just so, allowing her to breathe past the swelling. He didn't need to spare a glance for _Magneto_.

Erik ignored the slight and chose to focus on the motley army, inspecting its newest members. No reason to concern himself where he wasn't needed. Hank would see to the silver-haired imp soon enough. His injury wasn't life-threatening, nor was it impeding to the others. Although Erik did worry about the damage over time. It would be a shame for such a gift to be lost.

Another soft cry, and Erik's head jerked back instinctively. The same anxiety clenched his gut and he stepped forward –

And then froze, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone had noticed. The redheaded girl continued to stare. He moved to lean against the adjacent wall, folding his arms.

There wasn't a child on the earth who could move his heart like Nina.

His eyes shifted towards the silver mutant, all the same.

"He's hurting."

Eric swung to face the girl, startled, and she narrowed her eyes.

"What are you standing around for?" she challenged softly. She shrugged towards the boy on her left, the professor at her right. Something was holding Charles together, despite the commotion he must sense from the pain around him. Was she a telepath as well as a telekinetic?

" _Go."_ She had the gall to order the most powerful mutant next to Charles and En Sabah Nur, and he was expected to be _tactful_ about the matter?

Just as Eric opened his mouth retort, Hank noticed the situation. The blue-furred mutant looked back across the room and cursed.

"Magneto, take the kid. I'll be right with him."

Gawking, swallowing unformulated protests, Erik turned on his heel and stalked to the speedster's side. He wavered, shifting his feet, wondering if he should sit or stand or just give the kid a courteous tap into oblivion.

The redhaired girl made an exasperated sound. Glowering, Erik sat.

Peter swerved away from him. His eyes roved with the movement, and he blinked miserably until brown orbs focused.

"What're you doin'?"

At least when the kid was irked he didn't sound like a wounded puppy. A bird who had jumped the nest before it was ready to fly, perhaps, but certainly less pathetic. Erik had no sympathy for pups.

Nina, on the other hand, had always loved birds.

Uneasily, grouching at Hank, he slid an arm around Peter's shoulders and pulled him down. There was a stifled jerk of surprise, but the kid instantly settled. He twitched, no doubt itching to run, to escape his pain, to flee the source of hurt. Erik wondered if the flight instinct was always there. The boy had probably never faced a serious confrontation in his life. Why suffer conflict when freedom could be achieved in a mere blink?

Well, he couldn't run now. Erik doubted the boy had any experience with serious trauma, but he was managing himself surprisingly well. Still twitching. Endlessly. Still making those high-pitched sounds like a fledging with a broken wing. But for all his immaturity, the kid was brave.

"Y'don't have to do this," Peter mumbled.

Eric glanced down, caught between marveling that the boy was speaking in a coherent sentence, and mystified as to the connotation.

"J'st cause Hank said it…. Doesn't mean you hafta be here," Peter continued, reminding Erik that – even while injured – the kid didn't need any help supplying words for the entire population.

He shifted, pillowing the silver head a little more, and stared at the remarkable laminate by the opposite wall.

"Really, s'kay," Peter mumbled. "Don't hafta…." He cut off with a shrill sound, ducking into Erik's shoulder. When he turned his face again then was blood on his lower lip.

"Hank," Erik said softly. _Do something._

This wasn't Nina. She was more than this boy could ever be.

But there had been enough pain for one day, and the kid didn't deserve _this._

"Hank."

"Don't push him, Erik," Charles said blearily. He looked past the redhead, and his voice sifted into Erik's mind. _"It's going to hurt."_

Like the agony of the breakage, replayed over and over again. Erik understood. He tugged the boy a bit closer (not because he was anything like Nina – there was no comparison), preparing himself to grip tighter, to hold him down, to exceed his torment when the bone was set right.

He wondered if it would be kinder to slam the kid's head into the wall first. He might be older than the prison break, but he was still too naïve to bear any more pain.

"This's kinda weird," Peter mused uncertainly. "Not bad weird… just strange weird. Didn't think things'd move this fast when I…." He trailed off, digging his fingers into his side. More blood stained his teeth as he grimaced.

"Here." Sighing, Erik tugged off his glove and held it in front of the teen – young man, he reminded himself. Peter stared cross-eyed before looking up in dire amusement.

"S'nt it s'posed to come in a pair? Not like I wear gloves, but – "

"Bite down on it," Eric instructed. "You'll puncture your cheek."

Understanding and a hint of gratitude surfaced as Peter gingerly opened his mouth; just in time to clench his teeth around the glove as he jerked sideways again. A lone tear trickled into silver strands before he agitatedly brushed his eyes.

"All'gies," he mumbled around the glove. "I cn' – "

"Stop talking," Erik said calmly.

The kid shut up. He continued to twitch, hypersensitive instincts clamoring for escape. Erik had the strange urge to sweep the silver hair aside, to murmur a lullaby for a fevered mind. He closed his eyes for a long moment, knowing it wasn't Nina he was comforting, but desperately wishing it was so. When he opened his eyes Hank was striding towards them.

He flexed one hand and wondered how much metal force was required to shove the furry mutant away.

" _Erik, let him do his work!"_ Charles commanded.

Seething, wondering when he had started feeling any sense of protection for the pest, Erik relaxed and wound his other arm around Peter. Surreptitiously beckoned to the stone below them, to bind the boy if necessary. He looked up at Hank and mouthed, ' _Wait'_.

"You came all this way to defend your family," he said softly. _Distract him._ "Must be pretty far from home."

The boy blinked in confusion, then shrugged lopsidedly. "Been to D.C. before… kinda farther than that." He looked on uneasily as Hank examined the leg that had been sprained in the earth. Erik winced when the kid's trouser leg was pulled up, exposing swelling bruises. _He must have been caught midstride._ Being yanked out of a high speed like that – it was a wonder his leg hadn't snapped in half.

"Who are you protecting?" he asked as the boy hissed.

"I … I was….." Peter fumbled and swallowed.

Erik faltered. _Don't tell me they're already dead._ The boy's family lived elsewhere, he was sure of it. He couldn't have been responsible for...

"I was there for my…." Dark eyes glanced upward, glimmering with a strange light, and Hank took advantage. Colossal hands wrapped around the boy's broken limb and _yanked_.

Betrayal flooded with agony as the boy jittered, fluttering in Erik's grip. His limbs blurred, fists striking unseen as his body thrummed in flight. When the first punch bruised his eye Erik focused on the metal implants in the boy's flight suit, forcing immobility, ignoring his cries. Another twist, a scream worse than the initial breakage, and the boy fell into him, glazed eyes staring into nothing.

Hank huffed softly and glanced towards Charles. "You'll kill yourself if you strain any further. I told you, we can handle this."

The telepath shook his head minutely, right hand pressed against his temple in concentration. "I shouldn't have let it go this far. For heaven's sake, finish it quickly, Hank."

"Do it," Erik urged. The peace in the boy's eyes would only last for so long. He felt an odd wistfulness that it would remain forever.

Steadying his hands, Hank clamped the swollen limb and slanted one hand forward, nodding in satisfaction at the gruesome _snick_. Erik closed his eyes.

"It had to be done fast," Hank said, almost in apology. "I don't know the rate of his healing. If it's as amplified as his heartrate –"

"The bone would heal improperly," Erik interrupted. "Yes, I know."

Hank worked in silence thereafter, binding the discolored limb to the sprained leg. When Erik grunted about making a proper splint Hank brushed him away. "Too rigid. Unless you know how to manipulate plaster, I suggest you keep him quiet until we get some professional equipment. Don't let him move around too much."

It was wariness that rippled in the blue mutant's fur, even as he allowed Erik to cradle the injured speedster. Erik recognized and accepted the rebuff. The consequences of his actions should have entailed his ostracization from the X-Men. He had been granted guardianship for one of their own, but trust would only come with excruciating time.

The early flyer seemed to have given him that trust immediately.

Looking down at the silver head nestled against his shoulder, Erik raised a hand and halted, then swept gritty bangs out of eyes that could almost have been like hers.

 _Like hers… but there is no comparison._

Peter had a family of his own, no doubt waiting anxiously for his return.

Erik Lehnsherr had nothing.

It was foolish to believe otherwise.


End file.
